


bleach

by boyeater



Series: boys playing god [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Blood, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Unreliable Narrator, again i say: do not date murderers, i don't...really know what to tag this as but just to be safe! he is not a good person, it's actually not graphic but alas..read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyeater/pseuds/boyeater
Summary: Boys who play God are still boys.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Series: boys playing god [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642027
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	bleach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incendiarism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incendiarism/gifts), [haesuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haesuns/gifts).



> [vaguely gestures] sexy and unhinged? it's almost 2 am and i haven't studied but i think i will just vibe and think about a little convenience store in the middle of nowhere and the possibilities of a boy playing god 
> 
> i drop this again on ash and sol's laps because they are so awesome 
> 
> no beta no edits i am no thoughts head 181102 haechan

Rising action.

A boy playing God.

Little is more thrilling than holding power over another’s breath. Cold hands wound tight around human fragility. _Tighter._ The most thrilling part is the approaching of the climax, each movement more controlled, more purposeful, each little sensation sending bolts of electricity up his spine, a power trip straight to the brain. A beating heart fighting to take back its life. Not that Jaemin will allow that to happen. The thought is what counts though, right? Human fragility comes with human fight. It’s something evolutionary, probably, passed down from mother to child for protection from predators, from something like Jaemin, among other things, of course. 

Little is more invigorating than this. The last moments come slowly, life lowering its mud caked shoe on the breaks, blinding headlights of oncoming traffic fading to the glow of a faraway star. Humans are stubborn, vain, and they think too highly of themselves. It comes with human pride. Pride that in itself is an interesting thing. Above love, above money, above freedom. Pride is sacrificed last. _Tighter._ Oh, but slowly, surely, they realize that this is a battle they will lose. And what is the pride of one battle if the war is lost? _Tighter._ A little contradictory, maybe. A little paradoxical. It makes life worth living, to catch the look of mourning in someone’s eyes in the last moments. They’re mourning themselves, aren’t they? Pitying themselves. Pity comes at the cost of pride. And to _take_ someone’s pride, to take something like that, my, isn’t that something?

Little is thrilling or invigorating. A lot of things come close, maybe. A lot of things come close to the fun in playing God and the kick of taking a razor to fate’s game of cat’s cradle, but not close enough. 

The placebo effect doesn’t work on someone like Jaemin. 

Maybe, though the chance of it is slim, but _not zero—_ nothing is completely impossible, is it?—maybe allowing someone to hold power over his own breath could match the adrenaline that is now burning through his body like fire.

_Tighter._

The aftershocks come in flashes. 

Falling action.

Eyes looking through him and mouth parted in silence. This secret will be taken to the grave. (Jaemin made sure of that.) 

Burning flame rises from a campfire of bloodied clothing and useless sentiment. Corner of a family picture calling out to Jaemin, asking for salvation. Gasoline filling his lungs with a scent both nauseating and soothing. Jaemin pours more gasoline into the fire. Warmth fading from a body and the splash of cold water. Water soaking his shoes, soaking his socks, sinking into his skin and chilling him to the bone. Is this nature’s way of teaching him he’s just like them—just as fragile, just as human.

_You are not the God you think you are._

Is that so?

Jaemin props his elbows up on the counter and clenches and unclenches his fists, stretching his fingers as far out as they go and holding his hands up to his face. The slight tremor is normal, a side effect that Jaemin has long looked past, but the sight of it tonight makes Jaemin’s blood run cold. Jaemin’s hands are clean; he scrubbed them for almost an hour under scalding water until they were raw, but they still look bloody to him. Blood drips from his hands, from his arms and his clothes. Jaemin looks at himself in the glass of the store windows, shadow of a person alone in a corner store in a town nobody knows the name of, unforgivable sin bathed in artificial light, and a vicious smile drags across this mouth. Blood fills his mouth and stains his lips with red.

_You are not the God you think you are._

Boys who play God are still boys.

And there will be a reckoning for restless boys like Jaemin. 

A day will come that Jaemin is ripped apart. Under the skin and bones is the heart and soul, a charred core of bodies double bagged and t-shirts stained red. No matter how much hot water, no matter how much bleach he uses, his hands will never be completely clean, and a day will come that his guilt is compressed into a stone and placed on a scale. A guilt of a thousand pounds. Does it float or does it sink in water? Bodies float. Bones sink. Guilt has a way of doing not one nor the other. Perhaps it simply dies off with its host.

(And perhaps it doesn’t die at all. Perhaps guilt is not man-made. Perhaps guilt is what the gods use to test the limits of humanity.) 

Judgement is an inevitable thing, no? 

Jaemin thinks his assessment will be an interesting one.

And here comes the resolution, the solution to this _problem_ that Jaemin has, the character that will play the part of the catalyst and turn this circling, mind-numbing plot he has found himself in inside out. 

The bell above the doors of the convenience store rings.

“You’re still open, right?” The boy asks, smiling shyly as he plays with his hands and looks around the store. The boy looks at Jaemin with bright curiosity in his eyes, still standing in front of the counter as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to actually stay. “I’m sorry for coming in so late. Is it okay if I just find something real quick? I just really wanted some ice cream.”

It’s half after two in the morning and no one should look so bright at this time of night, but this boy looks more alive than anyone Jaemin has seen in the six months he’s stayed in this town. Jaemin was ready to move to a different town, to a different place where no one knows his name, but maybe, just this time, Jaemin will stick around a little longer. 

“It’s alright,” Jaemin smiles. “I could use a little company.” 

A god in a boy’s clothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/duckjaem) | [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/boyeater)


End file.
